Locked Doors
by seeingtheworld
Summary: Incomplete! Mickey's time in juvie, the second time around.
1. Chapter 1

_I just wanted to see if this was any good at all... It's no where near finished so expect lots of changes. Commets and constructive criticism greatly appreciated!_

* * *

"Ian, where are you? Stop walking away from me! Come back here asshole!" I stumbled through the dark after a mop of ginger hair.

"Seriously Ian, stop. Ian… stop… please," I whispered. "PLEASE!"

Out of the blue a noise pierced my skull. It was so loud I would have pushed my pillow into my ears just to make it stop. Then I opened my eyes.

"Wakey wakey!" chirped Sam. "Time for breakfast!"

Sam is my cell mate. He is a huge guy, scares the shit out of all the inmates, and half the guards. It's a pretty big achievement seeing as these people have seen some sketchy characters. He is basically the size of two line backers and a half, plus the height of Yao Ming. Sam isn't even a mean guy; ya sure he could be a fucking pain in the ass, but I could have had it worse. The only reason he's in here is because he took the fall for his kid brother. Bad meth deal or something dumb like that. He got 6 months.

I shuffled along in the line, waiting for the minimal serving of crap to be dumped onto my plate. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of red, and all the muscles in my body tensed as I turned my neck. False alarm… again. The red headed guard stared back at me like I was on something. I focused back on my tray, muscles loosening. I let out the mother of all sighs and grumbled to myself about this shit hole.

"Chill bro," muttered Sam.

I responded to him with a glare. He smirked at me, all-knowing and gloating. I was a second away from physically ripping that grin off his face, before another floating in my mind stopped me. I knew I had to be on good behaviour if I wanted to get out and see Firecrotch. Fucking Gallagher. It's his fault Sam gave me that look in the first place.

I never meant to tell Sam about Ian. In reality, I never actually told him, he just figured it out. When I first got in here, I was a little bitch. All jumpy and jittery. Every flash of red, and every mention of the name Ian (there is a inmate named Ian.. the little fuck) set my teeth on edge. Sam knew something was wrong with me, he just didn't know what the hell it was - kept fucking asking me about it too. He sometimes just does not know when to shut up. He was getting no answers from me, so he started to put it together himself. Ian, the ginger… all the little pieces almost fitting together. I might of had a chance at keeping him a secret if I hadn't gone and fucked myself over. But, how could I resist? I did it subconsciously, literally, and I only knew when he confronted me about it later. I was having a wet dream, and Sam knew it. I mean how could you not? I was moaning and tossing around in my bunk. As you might have guessed, I was moaning to Ian, with Ian about Ian. Ian, Ian, Ian. After that there was no way Ian could be my brother I was missing, or my best friend or some shit. And there was no way I could pass him as my girlfriend, I mean have you ever met a girl named Ian? So I was screwed, and still am.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey so I kept writing, after some people asked me to. I know it's been forever I'm sorry, I hope this isn't as terrible as I think it is. xx_

* * *

Alright, enough with this woe is me shit. I'm a Milkovich, not some pansy ass cocksucker. Gallagher is out there, and I'm in here. I just need to keep my shit together and survive. None of this girl crap with the dreams and the freaking out and whatever the fuck else.

"Hey Mic, I'm going to go play ball with Tom and the boys. You want in?" Sam looked at me with that look that says I'm wallowing again.

"I'm not fucking going to the gym." It's disgusting and depressing. A whole bunch of sweaty guys panting and trying to look buff. None of them are even that built. Yeah, some of them look like they could throw monster trucks around like chew toys, or deflect a train; but they don't have that lithe body with wiry muscles like… like Ian. Jesus I'm such a fag it's nauseating. Prancing around singing: "Ian! Ian!" with my fucking pink unicorn and a rainbow. I need to get a fucking grip… Besides, they only have a deflated basket ball and some hoops 'cause we're too unstable to have weights or anything, in case some asshole tries to kill the first guy who looks at him funny by smashing his head in. All I'm saying is that the asshole in question is going to fucking try to anyways.

"Suit yourself." I rolled my eyes, "Stop moping it's bothering me," he said bluntly and strolled out the door.

"Thanks a lot asshat," I said under my breath. I look around me, I'm in the rec room, and I can see some ginger kid reading. What a fucking nerd.

I keep walking by the library and almost going in. Thank fucking God I stop myself before I actually do. I just know that Ian would want me to be reading whatever crappy book I can find. Get my GED or some shit. He would want me to do that, he'd be proud o- what the actual fuck? Did I just think that? Jesus christ. If my brothers or my.., my Dad knew about that they'ed find a dark alley and slit my throat.

Maybe I should save them the trouble. I'm sure I remember how to make a noose.. if I rip up the bedsheets.. God what am I even saying? I and everyone else knows I'm too much of a pussy to off myself, especially by hanging. I mean picking up a gun and shooting yourself is one thing, but going through the whole process of tying the knot and setting up a chair or whatever is something else entirely. I'm too fucking weak to do that. People say that suicide is the cowards way out, but that's a load of crap. If you've got enough guts to actually pull the trigger you're brave as shit. Probably too brave.

Well that's that then. I guess I'll just go to my cell and do some push ups and crunches there, 'cause it's the only thing I can do to not think, about him, or my dad, or getting out of here, or any of that shit. Fuck I need a cigarette.


End file.
